The Seven Soldiers of Victory Vol 2
by Mikel Midnight
Summary: A new team rises from the ashes of the old to protect the British Isles: The Beefeater, The Bowman, Frankenstein, The Scarlet Hawk, The Spider, Fleetway's TNT Tom & TNT Tina ... with an assistance from the original Bat Squad.
1. The Magician's Legacy

SEVEN SOLDIERS OF VICTORY V2#1: "The Magician's Legacy"

A woman clad in gold and purple, her features concealed behind a gold masque with goatlike horns at its peak, paced back and forth, apparently immune to the Antarctic chill. "A great battle ... a battle powerful enough to rend time itself ... happened here." She removed her gloves, to reveal fingertips with the outer dermal surface filed to oversensitivity, until she could feel the very contours of time itself. Finally, she found the rift that had been made in time and long since healed over, and slipped her hands through it. On the other side, the air burned with all the fires of the damned, but she remained undaunted despite the pain. Finally, she found a rough-textured cloth, and with bloody fingertips she pulled it back into her own time and place.

"Jock Kellog," Morgaine le Fey laughed to herself, "you never understood the heritage your bloodline granted you ... but your most powerful talisman is now mine at last." She caressed the green, hooded cloak lovingly. "The cloak of Merlyn. You expected your descendents to protect it, old fool, and they allowed it to be lost. But now, after decades, it has been found."

* * *

Elsewhere, a woman also clad in purple lay down the last of a series of cards. She furrowed her brow as she sought to interpret the message which lay concealed. Finally, she groaned. "Oh, my sister," she said softly, and rose to her feet to prepare to leave the comforts of her modest house. Once, Madame Xanadu had called Merlyn lover, but now she remained on Earth to protect it from the terrible heritage the days of Camelot had left behind, from his bloodline and her own.

* * *

The Scarlet Hawk looked down over the Soldiers' headquarters on the Orkney islands northwest of Scotland. The refinements he had made to the Hoverer were working like a dream so far. Ascending high, he contemplated the future of his team. They had been short-handed since nearly half their membership had elected to remain in the future to help rebuild the London of the 41st century, although the Hood had been helpful when the team had recently gone up against Jimmy O'Goblins. George Cross had refused formal membership however, feeling it would detract from his environmental activism.

In his contemplation, it took him more than a second to notice when his engine had stopped working.

He furrowed his brow. None of the changes he had made were drastic or experimental, but every control had gone completely dead. He found himself trapped inside a metal box, incapable even of ejecting.

Well, this would be a stupid way to die, he thought. He began working at the seam of the eject hatch, attempting to loosen it enough manually that he could force himself free. Suddenly, a pair of hands appeared on the outside, tearing the hatch away as easily as an orange peel.

He found himself looking at the face of a teenage girl, blonde and wearing a red tunic. "Could you use a hand, mate?" she said.

"I'll take a hand when offered," Scarlet Hawk replied, and felt himself pulled free into a small but powerful pair of arms. As he began a slow but controlled return to earth, he saw the Hoverer itself supported by a grinning teenage boy, who bore an evident family relationship to his rescuer.

Finally, the trio landed on the island, joining the waiting Bowman, Frankenstein, and the Spider. Scarlet Hawk rubbed his shoulders and nodded to his teammates, before turning again to the pair of teens. "I appreciate the help, but ... who are you?"

* * *

Terri Gorvett dreamed ...

Once again she walked through the ancient stones of Darkmoor. The man she had met there, who identified himself as Mr. Merlin, stroked his long white beard and adjusted his bifocal glasses as they spoke. He offered her a chance to continue a legacy, albeit one she had never heard of. He had offered her a battlestaff, which he called the Rod of the Stuarts, and a wand, which he said had formerly been possessed by an entity named Deconstructo. On accepting she had found herself clad in a bright blue costume with red stripes, and her brown hair (with new red highlights) tied back in a ponytail ... which just wasn't very sexy but it kept it out of her eyes which were now hidden behind an identity-concealing red masque.

She had been given the name Beefeater, and her career had been unremarkable. In her first week as a superheroine, her encounter with EuroGuard had led to her attacking one of their members by mistake, and then she fell in with the short-lived so-called London's Guardians, which had proven to be nothing more than a millionaire's power fantasy; she had not been welcome in the superhero community since.

In the dream she had accepted the sword and the mace, which had also been offered to her. She saw her career proceeding, instead of with the simple heroism she had sought, rather with nothing but violence and bloodshed. She saw the country she loved in ruins, and her own hands covered in the blood and gore of her enemies, but unable to accomplish anything beyond more destruction.

She awoke with a start, to find herself in complete darkness. Where was the display from her clock? She reached for it in annoyance, but it didn't seem to be operational. With a grunt, she lifted herself to a seated position, and walked over to the door of her bedsit to switch on the light ... only to find it nonoperational, too.

A blackout, she thought, just what I need. Now I'll probably be late for work. She wondered how far the effect ranged, so she walked to the window and drew open the curtains. The landscape she saw resembled that of her dream.

She felt a clutch of panic in her belly. She knelt down and reached under her bed for the case which contained the staff and the wand she had not touched in several months. With shaking hands, she drew them out. Willing the change, she felt the still-familiar sensation of her body's musculature changing. She imagined she could even feel the streaks of red appearing in her hair as she felt it being drawn back.

She opened the outside window and gripped the staff tightly. She had been unable to fly when she had first started; it was a late and accidental discovery that, so long as she was in physical contact, she could will the staff through the air and carry herself along with it.

She chose to presume that her body in its superpowered form would sustain a fall if she let go by accident, but the prospect still terrified her. Inhaling deeply, she allowed the staff to pull her upwards.

Curiously, not even the cars were moving. The city appeared to be in darkness; the only illumination came from oil torches that some pedestrians seemed to be carrying. People were wandering the streets on foot. Where did all those horses come from?

She looked down to see a man in a red hood bearing a bow and arrow, an immense man with green-tinted skin and an antiquated military uniform, a helmeted man also clad in red, a fourth man wearing a black bodysuit with some odd equipment strapped around his torso, and a teenage boy and girl with glowing hands. She realised with gratitude that she was not the only superhuman defending the country at the moment.

How far did the blackout range? She rose higher, and was appalled to see from her heightened perceptions that it had overtaken the entire city, if not the country. This isn't normal, she thought to herself. There must be something I can do ...

She saw there was still the dim glow of lights to the north. Drawn like a moth, she followed it, and only after a time saw the floating woman in green and purple, her features concealed behind both hood and masque. "Enogeb ecneics," the woman chanted nonsensically, "Kcab ot eht emit fo tolemac!" She reached out, making a pinching motion as if extinguishing a candle, and another host of lights went out.

"Hey ... hey you ... " Terri shouted, as she flew closer into the woman's line of vision. "Cut that out!"

The woman's sneer was almost visible through her masque. "Egac fo dael," she said. Terri saw a row of bars appear before her, and then the heavy metallic cage fell prey to gravity, the top of it slamming into her skull as it began to plummet. The surprising impact stunned her, and she lost control of the staff, tumbling down with it.

"I'm shafted," Terri thought to herself as she struggled for cogency, watching the ground rush up to meet her. She managed to find the breath to scream before she hit the ground,

She was all the more surprised when a gust of wind halted the cage's descent just before it hit the ground. The lead box floated upwards, light as a feather, and then descended just as gently. A young woman with raven hair and ancient eyes approached the cage, and as her hand touched the lead bars, they seemed to rust and age, and she shattered them easily. "Are you all right?" she enquired.

Terri felt the bump on the back of her head. "I ... I think so ... did you just save me? Who are you?" She had tried to keep track of the other superheroes operating in the country, to avoid her earlier mistakes, but did not recognise this woman at all.

"My name is Nimue," the woman said. "Or it was, once. You have the look of one of Merlyn's scions, child."

"Mr. Merlin? The funny old bloke who gave me the Beefeater battlestaff and the Deconstructo wand? I was pretty sure he had stolen them anyway ... "

"That would not be beneath him." Madame Xanadu looked almost amused. "But the Rod of Stuart, at least, is his own creation. It was meant as a counterweight to those who would misuse his legacy ... such as my sister," she nodded upwards, "Morgaine le Fey."

"Morgaine le Fey? Like from King Arthur's time? That Morgaine le Fey? Wait ... you're trying to tell me that 'Mr. Merlin' is the real Merlin? King Arthur's Merlin?"

Madame Xanadu nodded.

"I am so shafted," Terri mumbled.

"Perhaps," Madame Xanadu said, "but perhaps together we can defeat my sister, despite her possession of Merlyn's cloak. Take my hand," she said, and Terri felt the wind rise at her back.

Despite the anxiety she knew must have shown on her face, she gripped Madame Xanadu's hand tightly and the two women were swept up into the air. She almost didn't see the man in the trench coat who ran up behind them, calling Madame Xanadu's name, before the sound of the wind drowned out his words.

Terri looked at Madame Xanadu quizzically, but held her words when she saw the tightened expression on the woman's face. She realised that flight, even in this form which seemed to be buttressed by the evocation of natural forces, was not a normal thing for her. She set her will upon her staff once more to alleviate some of the weight, and soon she was borne aloft by her own power as they closed in on Morgaine.

"Sister," Madame Xanadu said as they approached, "you seek to bring back the days of old, but ... "

"Mankind has strayed to far from their old fears since they took the turn from alchemy to science," Morgaine replied. "They were happier and more content, then, when they knew each generation would live exactly as the last. I only wish to return them to their golden age of the days of Camelot. Were you not happier then, sister?"

"It was the happiness of naiveté," Madame Xanadu replied. "Man must rise to the stars in their own way ... "

Morgaine sighed. "I tire of this. Sdniw emoceb enacirruh!"

The zephyr winds which had borne the two women on high, increased in intensity until they found themselves flung wildly out of control. Morgaine flew after them placidly, as they lost control and began to fall, only Terri's desperate will allowing her to clutch onto Madame Xanadu and slow their descent enough that the impact was only bruising. The trenchcoated man, who had followed their path, extended a hand to assist them. "Nimue, now will you ... "

She backed away, her face showing her contempt. "Do not touch me!"

Terri blinked, "Nimue? Who ... ?"

Morgaine watched the trio. "No more speech from the likes of you," she said. "Ecnelis!" His hands rushed to face as he felt his lips zipper themselves shut.

Madame Xanadu began to chant, elemental forces arraying themselves against Morgaine. Terri followed her lead, aiming both of her weapons as well. But the elder woman's powers blocked their efforts easily, and her opponents found themselves torn and bleeding. The trenchcoated man had even tried attacking Morgaine from behind with his fists, but she only laughed and flung him to the side.

Madame Xanadu glanced over at the man and gave a despairing sigh. "Free the prince forever damned," she began to chant.

"Free the might from fleshy mire.

Boil the blood in heart of fire.

Gone, gone the form of man,

Arise the demon … Etrigan!"

Her final words were almost drowned out by a screech from Morgaine, but the man's transformation had completed. He crouched, bent and bestial, bat-winged yet somehow feline, and leapt at the sorceress. "Llaw fo eci!" she cried out, and he smashed against the frozen barrier which had appeared, rebounding in an almost comical manner. He laughed, and opened his maw, a blast of flame emitting from it and melting the wall. Without a pause, he leapt again, the heat continuing and increasing, until the cloak of Merlyn itself began to burn.

Morgaine felt the metal of her armour begin to heat, and backed away in a panic. With a quickly uttered oath, she teleported herself away.

In the midst of the London devastated by her magicks, stood the legacies of Merlyn: his lover, his scion, his demon. Terri looked around. "I ... kind of assumed that when she disappeared everything would go back the way it was ... "

The Demon crooked his finger towards her. "In your hand Deconstructo's wand,"

A weapon to refashion worlds.

Is this task best left to women or girls?

Allow a creature, whose word is his bond, To recreate each pleasant park and pond."

Terri blanched, but moved forward to hand him the wand, when she felt Madame Xanadu's grip on her wrist. "Merlyn's scion," she said, "you would allow a demon from hell to refashion Britain in his own image? Do you know what dark perverse strains he would introduce into this nation?"

The Demon grinned widely. "And you, sister of Morgaine, Would create a pacified nation free of pain?"

Madame Xanadu bit her lip, clearly having been tempted by just that urge. "No. The scion is human, and is in in her own image that the Britain that humans built must stand."

"What?" Terri was aghast. "Me? You want me to make the whole country like me?"

"Merlyn chose you to be the guardian of the Isles," Madame Xanadu said. "He did so with good reason. It is your task to recreate what she destroyed. You have the tool to do it."

Terri stared at the wand. "I've ... I've only used it as a weapon before ... " She focused, and the wand began to glow gold, then began to send out waves of energy in concentric circles of gold, red and blue. Madame Xanadu and the Demon felt the intensity of the waves as an almost painful touch, but around her electronic devices began to reactivate, and much of the damage wrought by Morgaine began to undo itself. After a while the strength of the waves began to falter, and she furrowed her brow. "It's too much to ... keep in my head ... I can't ... "

Madame Xanadu reached forward, "You can, I'm here to help you." She held on to Terri's hand, and the process continued again, though the gold became tinted with green and violet. The Demon stepped forward and stroked the wand like a lover, adding streaks of ebony and deeper crimson.

Finally, the nation was restored, though perhaps some if it stranger than before. Terri dropped the wand to the ground, then slumped to her knees in exhaustion. The Demon bowed deeply. "Nimue, as always, a pleasure," he said and then turned to face Terri, "and Merlyn's scion has indeed proven her measure." He leaped skywards, flying south ungracefully.

Madame Xanadu walked over to the place where Morgaine had teleported from, eyes scanning downwards. Finally, she saw a singed piece of tattered green cloth lying on the ground. She leaned down and picked it up, depositing it into a small vial she had taken from the lining of her cloak, and then returning the vial to its hiding place.

"Did I do it right?" Terri asked. She stared at the wand; it looked mottled and dead in her hands. "I think I killed it."

"Etrigan and I arrived at an agreement," she said softly. "The wand was too powerful to allow in lateborn hands. We turned some of its energy inwards. You will find the Rod of the Stuarts to be a sufficient weapon to guard the Isles. And, I suspect, you will soon no longer need to fight alone."

"I don't think EuroGuard or Justice League Europe would have me."

"There are others ... some traveled from other times, some from as close as Germany but settled here ... who will be uniting around you. You will find a family with them, and guidance. The demon and I are relics of Britain's past; look to its future, child, mind its future."

* * *

She was on her way home, contemplating Madame Xanadu's prophecy, when she saw a teenage boy and girl rising up through the air to greet her. "Hello Miss," the boy said.

Terri slowed her flight path to look at the pair of them. "Um, hello. Can I help you?"

The girl smiled. "My cousin calls himself TNT Tom, and I go by TNT Tina. We all saw your battle against that witch and what you did after, and our boss wants to have a word with you. Would you mind?"

Terri smiled in return, "Of course not." She followed them downwards, where the red hooded man, and some of the others she had seen earlier, were waiting for her. The man walked up to her. "Welcome to the superhero community; that was quite an auspicious premiere, I must say. I'm the Bowman; aside from Tom and Tina, the rest of my friends here are Scarlet Hawk, the Spider, and the big bloke is Frankenstein. The Seven Soldiers of Victory have been missing a seventh, and we would like to extend an offer of membership. Miss ... ?"

"Beefeater," she said. "Of course, I am familiar with your team from the newspapers ... and ... I'd be honoured."


	2. Night Wears a Scarlet Shroud

SEVEN SOLDIERS OF VICTORY V2#2: "Night Wears a Scarlet Shroud"

The flashlight shone upwards, tracking the overhead electrical lines leading to the old barn outside the London borough of Oakridge. Former Scotland Yard Inspector Major Dabney puffed on his pipe. "What do you think, Murdock?"

Mick Murdock looked upwards, squinting. "Those definitely look like illegal lines to me ... your mate Holt was right."

Margo Cantrell chewed her lower lip, remembering the surreptitious meeting with Assistant Vice Chancellor Alexander Holt, who for reasons unknown to her had chosen to contact the Major rather than work through channels at Scotland Yard. "That's just energy theft though, right? That doesn't tell us anything about kidnapping, or espionage, or whatever else it is that the Vice Chancellor thinks they're up to in there."

"That's right," Mick nodded, "for all we know they could just be a bunch of squatters ... hardly worth the attentions of the Bat Squad."

The Major switched off the flashlight. "Holt never steered me wrong in the past," he said. "If this is where Prof. O'Brien disappeared to, he was right to go outside of official channels in order to call us in. It's time to get a closer look."

Quietly, the trio crept closer. Batman himself had trained them to act as a unit, and their silent progress in the dark was testament to his influence. The structure looked delapitated from a distance, though closer examination revealed that it had been rebuilt, with new hardwood reinforcing the gaps in the old.

"The boarded-up windows have been reinforced with a solid backing," the Major said. "If there's anyone home, they jolly well didn't want to be seen."

"Let's just see what I can do with this door," Mick said, kneeling down as Margo retrieved a set of lockpicks from her purse and handed them to him.

Minutes later, Mick heard the satisfying click as the deadbolt slid away. He opened the door carefully, peering inside. "Definitely well-lit," he murmured, "and I don't see any obvious tripwires. Is that your man?"

The Major changed places with Mick to peer inside. An elderly man in a conservative suit, balding and with a shock of white hair, was tied to a chair, looking battered. Standing before him was what appeared to be an armored man, with a lionesque body which also included a scorpion-like tail. "Manticore," the Major cursed.

"Like from mythology?" Margo asked. "Who ... or what ... is he?"

"A cyborg; nothing more than a mechanical executioner," the Major replied. "He and other terrorists-for-hire are members of a team called Onslaught."

Prof. O'Brien may have started off resolute, but from the way he'd slumped on his chair it was clear the treatment he'd received had broken his spirit. Manticore's tail whipped around, knocking the chair over and causing it and its inhabitant to tumble to the floor. The cyborg turned around, stalked off to one side of the barn, and started to run towards the fallen man, bearing down like a tractor.

"Bloody hell," the Major said, "he's going to run him over. He may kill us but we have to run interference." The trio ran out, moving as a single coordinated unit, and through sheer surprise managed to tackle Manticore and throw him off his path, causing him to roll over onto his side.

Manticore quickly uprighted himself. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded. Without waiting for a response, he raised one leonine hand and his claws began to rapid-fire like a machine gun, each claw striking explosively.

Margo screamed. The Major pulled out a pistol and began to fire at the cyborg, to no effect. Mick circled around, trying to get behind Manticore, but the cyborg shrugged him off effortlessly. His tail lashed out repeatedly, knocking the Bat Squad off their feet. One his claws lashed out, knocking the Major's pistol from his hand; he raised it again with the clear intent to decapitate the Inspector, when he was once more knocked off his feet by a blast of energy.

A septet of colourful figures entered the room, and Manticore roared. He ran towards the blue-clad woman with the gold staff, from whom the blast had originated, when a pair of blond teenagers wearing matching red tunics stepped forward. Their hands touched, and began to glow with energy; jointly their fists met the cyborg with explosive punches, and their opponent crumbled to the floor.

Mick rolled to his feet, reaching out a hand to assist Margo who immediately rushed to untie Prof. O'Brien. The Major grunted, rising to his feet with some effort. "The Seven Soldiers of Victory, is it?"

Bowman approached the man. "We received your call, Major. The Knight is on assignment elsewhere, but he left us well-acquainted with your history together." Cyril Sheldrake had established contacts with the Bat Squad as well as the vigilante known as the Hood, all of whom had received either training or support from the American hero known as Batman in the past.

The Spider bound up Manticore in steel-strong strands, while Beefeater stood over the cyborg, the firing end of her Rod of Stuart aimed at his head, in case he began to stir. Scarlet Hawk walked over to join Margo and Prof. O'Brien. "Are you unharmed, Sir?"

"Thank you for saving my life." Prof. O'Brien rubbed his wrists with a pained expression. "But I couldn't ... I didn't ... I wasn't strong enough. One of them got away with the code key to my plan for the 'Electric Firebolt.' I don't know how long it will take them to decode my plans and build the fearsome weapon for themselves."

Bowman rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "We don't even know yet who hired Onslaught," he said. "Hopefully, interrogating Manticore will shed some light on the subject. In the meantime ... Professor, is there any way to construct a locating device for the weapon?"

Prof. O'Brien furrows his brow. "It ... might be possible ... of course it would depend on how much they alter my design ... but the Firebolt ought to have a distinct energy signature ... "

"Our hq has a well-equipped and, needless to say, well-defended lab," Scarlet Hawk said. "We'll escort you there, and possibly Spider and I can lend some assistance."

Mick eyed the Bowman speculatively. "I've never seen a superhero headquarter ... other than the 'London Batcave' of course, after we all encountered the Strangler. Would there be any objection if I tagged along?"

Margo grinned. "I'll sit this one out, thank you. I'll go with the Major when we interrogate Manticore."

* * *

Archer Dawe had removed the identity-concealing hood of the Bowman, as he walked Mick Murdock through the Soldiers' souvenir room: Mr. Freek's D-Gun, the Scorpion's death ray and ultraviolet devolution ray, the Sixtystone, the remains of Deconstructo's wand, some of the Clockwork Cagliostro's tin soldiers, Jimmy Watson's magic patches, and necromancer Jimmy O'Goblins' counterfeit coins, were all represented in addition to older exhibits dating from the Blackhawks' tenure on the island.

"I'm surprised you keep all this mystical stuff around."

"We're not going to keep anything like the mystical equivalent of an unexploded mine in our hq, don't worry. We actually consult regularly with Zatanna Zatara, who vets our collection. For example, the coins are harmless so long as nobody tries to spend them."

"Zatanna ... I think I remember Batman mentioning her."

"The Knight & Squire met her during their tenure with the Ultramarines, when they all encountered one of the Justice Leagues. I think the group still exists, actually, in some form or other."

"Batman seemed quite taken with her, from the way he spoke."

"I gather they're old childhood friends. Hrm. I was quite surprised your girlfriend didn't accompany you on the tour."

"My ... ? Oh, you mean Margo? She's not my girlfriend ... I think she just didn't want to cramp my style. She's a nice girl. Just a bit of a dolly bird, you know?"

"I can imagine. Anyway, my tastes run in other directions."

"It's nice to see my 'radar' is still operational. Would have been a wasted trip, otherwise."

"Oh, really?"

* * *

The next days saw Beefeater, TNT Tom & TNT Tina on aerial patrol, but despite the crime wave marked by the use of an unstoppable beam which burned right through the doors of the strongest vaults, they found themselves arriving too late to foil the use of the Firebolt. Manticore's information was likewise unproductive; Onslaught had fled their previous hiding place on the cyborg's capture and he had not been part of the negotiations to hire the team. All he was able to provide was a name: The Scarlet Shroud. So the cynosure of the case was Prof. O'Brien and his impromptu engineering team.

Finally, the locator was all but ready; Scarlet Hawk busied himself loading it aboard the Aviosub as the rest of the team boarded behind him. "Once we get these to Selegue Laboratories to install their specialised vacuum tubes, we'll be in place," he exposited. "If we spread out around London, we'll be in place to catch Onslaught ... or their mysterious employer ... in the act."

As the craft headed southeast, it was watched as it crested over the Scottish border by a tall woman, long and lean of limb. She moved so quickly her arms seemed to blur, and a javelin was flung through the air, aimed towards the bottom of the Aviosub. The weapon exploded on impact, the flames reaching the Aviosub's fuel tank so that it burst into flame, the heat perceptible even from the ground.

The woman who called herself Jaculi smiled in satisfaction, and activated her auto-dial. "J2 here," she said, "the seven are down ... I'll stick around long enough to see that the field is clear but I've seen no signs of survivors."

She watched the burning wreckage and fuel spread across the North Sea for a long while, before she was satisfied. She walked back to the ebony roadster waiting for her, and sped off southwards.

At just under cloud cover, the Spider watched from his one man helicar, with TNT Tom and TNT Tina hovering alongside. "They wasted no time," he said into his communicator. "We're tracking the car now. See you on the mainland. Team Fleetway out."

"Team National out," Bowman replied. If the Spider hadn't detected the tracking device attached to the Aviosub when they had rescued Prof. O'Brien in Oakridge, the team might have suffered a dire fate; even the more invulnerable members may not have survived such an explosion.

The real Aviosub, meanwhile, traversed the oceanic depths to course, still submerged, through the Thames, arriving finally in the area of London. As evening deepened into night, the Bat Squad guarded Prof. O'Brien using the Soldiers' island headquarter as a safehouse; Scarlet Hawk scanned the detector device, watching on a computer grid as a light flashed, prompting use of its map-and-contact system. "The All-British Platinum Company," he said, entering the address into the Aviosub's GPS. The vehicle rose out of the water, heading eastwards.

They descended near the repository of the corporate stores of the precious metal. What appeared to be a van was parked at the loading dock. Scarlet Hawk landed the Aviosub silently. Bowman drew an arrow and nodded to his teammates, and the quartet disembarked from the craft.

As they circles around the craft, they came upon an adolescent girl with red hair and green eyes, clad in a plain green dress, playing jacks. She looked up at the curiously, and the Soldiers felt an overwhelming wave of anxiety pass through them.

Beefeater screamed, falling to the ground and dry heaving, unable to withstand the emotions coursing through her. Bowman and Scarlet Hawk struggled to stay in place, past terrors haunting them as their weapons fell to the ground. Only Frankenstein proceeded unimpeded, and walked up to the girl, his face impassive.

"By gor, yer a big 'un." She stuck out her tongue at him. "Why aren't ye fallin' like the others?"

He looked around at his afflicted friends. "I have already been dead more than once," he replied, "fear means nothing to me now." A flick of his finger against her chin flung her backwards; her head struck the concrete platform, stunning her.

Besides, he thought to himself, my brain is the revived brain of a corpse. Who knows the ways its chemistry differs from the truly living?

Bowman staggered over and knelt by Beefeater. "Terri?" he whispered, "are you still with us?"

She curled up for a moment, and then rolled over onto her hands and knees, wiping bile from her chin. "That was horrible," she said. "It was like ... I don't even want to think about it ... what was it?"

"Her codename is Badb," Bowman said, "she's a projective telepath. We're through the first hurdle, it's time now to see who's manning the Firebolt."

Scarlet Hawk eyed the card scanner by the rear door. "The security system looks like it's still disabled; getting in will be simple." He cracked open the door. "The vault ought to be in the basement."

They descended into the well-lit basement, to see a pair of grotesquely overmuscled men, operating a device which resembled a Klieg light, beaming directly into the steel of the vault. One of the men spotted the foursome as they entered the room. "Who the frack are you?" he shouted, his voice oddly pitched and echoing, like the sound of a beehive. The other glanced at the Soldiers and swiveled the Firebolt around, turning its electric fury directly towards them.

Beefeater swore in alarm, and instinctively from the Rod of Stuart she generated a force-shield. Sweat broke out on her brow from the heat it was generating. "I'm not going to be able to block this forever," she advised her companions.

Frankenstein nodded and drew forth his steam-guns, charging forward towards the Firebolt. The pair from Onslaught glanced at one another, their hands touched briefly and they seemed to merge into a greater entity, easily twice the mass of either of the identical pair. The hulking creature towered over his assailant, and grabbed hold of his wrists with a grip which evoked a grunt of pain from Frankenstein.

Bowman knocked an arrow, and aimed it for the creature. "Hyve," he said, "let him go." The metal-tipped arrow flew towards the creature's shoulder, but at the moment before impact the shoulder seemed to detach and fall to the ground, causing the arrow to miss its mark. The arm reformed into a muscular dwarf which charged towards Bowman, buzzing angry obscenities.

Scarlet Hawk attempted to maneuver around the back of the room, aiming for the Firebolt in order to deactivate it. Hyve seemed to shatter into hundreds of smaller copies of himself which began to swarm like insects over Frankenstein and Scarlet Hawk.

Beefeater felt her will begin to waver, and glanced over at her teammates. With gritted teeth, she leaped upwards through the air, letting the Firebolt's light beam through the interior wall. Hovering under the ceiling, she sent blasts of energy from the Rod of the Stuarts into Prof. O'Brien's device, until it became too damaged to function. Quickly, she sent another blast at the dwarf brutalising Bowman.

Caught by surprise before he could separate further, Hyve tumbled to the ground. The smaller versions as well, fell off Frankenstein and Scarlet Hawk like leaves from a tree. Bowman grinned at Beefeater as she descended, "Good work, Terri!" He clapped her on the back.

She smiled shyly, wiping her forehead with a gloved hand. She was uncomfortable in her uniform, covered in sweat from the heat and mental exertion of her battle with the Firebolt. "Thanks," she replied. "What's the plan now?"

"If you feel strong enough, I want you to catch up with Fleetway ... the rest of us are going to take what's left of Hyve and the Firebolt back to the island's secure facility for now."

As below, so above:

The Spider watched TNT Tom & Tina indulge in aerial acrobatics as they tracked Jaculi's automobile. The 'kindly uncle' affection for them he presented wasn't entirely feigned, although he would never have admitted to himself how comforting he found it to have fellow emigrants from his own reality level operating alongside him in the Soldiers, despite their not having been truly acquainted prior to the transition. When he discovered them in this world's London they had proven ill-suited to life on their own, living in squats and even stealing food from market stalls. While they naturally still mourned the loss of their families, they were flourishing in the team, and their eyes no longer bore the wan look of desperation.

The vehicle found its way to the century-old Half Moon Inn. The Spider's helicar descended low enough for him to observe Jaculi disembark and walk to the alley behind the Inn, where she disappeared into a rear door. He beckoned to the young cousins and they followed him to ground level. He donned a black trench coat to conceal his skintight armour as he followed her; his companions' uniforms largely consisted of matching red tunics, so while not exactly stylish they wouldn't be overly conspicuous in public.

A quick scan revealed she did not appear to be on the ground floor, so the trio explored the cellar. The Spider's subtle eye found a hidden door panel, and he deftly bypassed its security protocol. They found themselves in a room which could have belonged to a Republic serial villain, filled with gadgetry and loot from previous escapades and even Nazi paraphernalia. Jaculi was in conference with a man wearing a dark hat and cloak, and a red leather masque which disguised his face. Fascinating, the Spider thought to himself; the presumed 'Scarlet Shroud' wears a masque even when speaking to his lackies, from which one could infer that his identity must be something publically known which he wished to conceal even from them. He laughed internally at the evident conflict between the two, easily imagining Jaculi's perplexity on being told of the Soldier's interference with the use of the Firebolt given her apparent destruction of the Aviosub.

"Tom and Tina," the Spider murmured, beckoning the cousins over to him, "things are going to get explosive down here very soon. I need you to evacuate the rest of the building." They nodded silently, and flew back up the stairwell. He assessed his opponents carefully. The woman was homicidal and currently in a state of emotional disturbance. She was also capable of moving at super-speed. He had fought and defeated speedsters in the past, and found them among his most challenging combatants. The man's anger showed a lack of internal discipline; and while he appeared physically fit it was doubtful from his movements that he had studied any of the martial arts. On the other hand, he evidently had some advanced engineering skill as well as paranoia, and it was impossible to judge what sorts of weaponry might be concealed beneath his cloak.

When the cousins returned, the Spider fired his web gun to entangle Jaculi in its sticky, steel strong strands. Her reflexes proved the better of him, and the strands had barely entered her peripheral vision when she managed to slip into super-speed mode and duck out and away. A javelin thrown with inhuman speed hurtled toward him, though he had already rolled out of the way so that it exploded into the wall behind him. TNT Tom's and TNT Tina's hands touched and began to glow with explosive energy, and they flew towards her.

The other man cursed. He reached into his jacket, and from his cloak began to emit a scarlet gas which distracted the Spider and began to make his throat burn caustically. The red leather over the man's face must conceal a gas masque, the Spider thought to himself. Fortunately, he was accustomed to operating his jet pack at heightened altitudes, and his utility pack contained compressed oxygen which he began to inhale through a canula. He had started to recover when his opponent drew forth twin .45s and began to fire.

Jaculi led the cousins on an intense chase around the warehouse-like room. Despite their flying ability, they were unable to quite catch up with her three-second spurts of speed. The heightened resistance to damage their bodies granted when they used their explosive punches were not proof against her exploding javelins, as TNT Tina learned when she was struck. She crashed to the ground with a semiconscious groan. TNT Tom raced to her, checking to see whether she had been permanently harmed, and with an angry growl renewed his attack on their opponent.

The Spider's skintight metallic armour was essentially bulletproof, but he was still forced to back away from the impact of the bullets. Continued exposure to the scarlet gas was starting to make his eyes burn and obscuring his vision. He attempted to get a bead on his opponent with the web gun, but he found that in the Scarlet Shroud's own domain he was no longer the master of his environment. He began to plot a strategy when another blow from one of the .45s forced him to start blocking his exposed face and head from the direction of the attacks.

Jaculi grinned. "You kids weren't supposed to be involved in this at all," she said, "but I'm more than happy to make up for my earlier failure after you people tricked me somehow." She aimed another javelin at him, which mainly by luck he managed to block with his hand ... the combined explosion knocked him backwards. He was unharmed, but realised his explosive punch was now discharged until he could make contact with his cousin once more. Jaculi backed away, aiming another javelin while TNT Tom was confused, but in doing so found herself in the Spider's line of vision.

Catching her from behind, she found herself encased in his web. "Tom," he said, track down the Shroud."

"But I can't see a thing ... "

"Then make like a bull in a china shop. You're faster and stronger than he is."

TNT Tom flew into the billowing cloud of gas, crashing into the walls repeatedly as he searched for the criminal mastermind. The man slipped away unseen, and ran towards the stairs leading to the exit door, only to find himself face to face with Beefeater. "Can I help you?" she asked, swinging her battlestaff like a cricket bat and knocking him back down the steps. The Spider stepped up and bound him, too.

"That was well-timed," the Spider commented to the newcomer as he removed the Scarlet Shroud's disguise, avoiding the man's gnashing teeth. "Now here we have a familiar face," he mused, searching his prodigious memory. "Ah, I do recall you: Assistant Vice Chancellor Alexander Holt. What could have motivated you to take such a turn, sir?"

"You people were never supposed to have been involved at all," Holt growled, "this was between me and the Bat Squad."

The Spider looked puzzled. "Were they stealing your thunder in some way?"

"Don't be absurd," he said. "My half-brother is Basil Coventry ... yes, the film-maker. Thanks the Bat Squad's interference in our lives, he wound up insane and our father wound up dead, both thinking they were our grandfather ... the Scarlet Strangler. I took the name the Shroud in mourning. All the rest of this was simply to draw them in."

TNT Tom shook his head as he overheard. "I know how hard it is to lose a family," he said. He knelt down by TNT Tina as she began to stir, taking her in his arms. "And ... I know how that can lead you to consider a life of crime, when you never would have before."

"I'll contact Bowman and tell him mission accomplished," Beefeater said to her teammates. "I'm sorry things worked out the way they did for all of us, Holt."

* * *

NOTES:

Many aspects of the plot were borrowed from the similarly-titled episode of the original Captain America movie serial.


	3. Everything is Impossible

Terri Gorvett, the Beefeater, relaxed with a cup of coffee as she poured over the Seven Soldiers' case files. Bowman had insisted; their repeated battles against villains such as the Scorpion and his progeny (the latter likely deceased) made it advisable that all members be at least acquainted with the modes of operation of their past opponents. As she came up to the months which passed between the departure of three of the team's founding members into the 41st century, and her joining the team, her eyes widened as she saw a familiar name: Lord Marmaduke Ffogg.

She remembered him well. He was the millionaire whose power fantasies led him to fund Elgin Whitestone's superhero team "London's Guardians," as well as constructing a second suit of Lionheart armour for former schoolteacher Lee Kelsey. Whitestone even donned a superhero identity of his own, sycophantically identified as Lord Fogg. She had some fond memories of her mate Lee, but her friendship with him was not enough to tolerate the immense egos of the others, and she quit soon after their first case against the Injustice League. It had taken Ffogg less than a week to replace her with Michael Bellamy, the Green Archer, which had not exactly done wonders for her ego.

She drew the pointer over and clicked on the case folder to open the file, and set to reading.

SEVEN SOLDIERS OF VICTORY V2#3: "Everything is Impossible"

"I was rather expecting seven of you," Marmaduke Ffogg said sniffily.

"Would it help if we printed business cards with the name 'Law's Legionnaires' on them?" Bowman glanced at Frankenstein, Scarlet Hawk, and the Spider who had also assembled in the room. "I can assure you that the four of us are more than capable enough to assist you in any way you need. Although I was rather expecting you to look to London's Guardians if you needed assistance from the costumed set ... since you sign their paycheques and all."

"They are currently involved in an investigation of a certain Evan McCulloch, if you must know," he replied. "And at any rate, I have never used London's Guardians for my own personal security. It would be unseemly."

Bowman pondered, curious about the so-called Green Archer in their group. "Nevertheless, you do have your own security crew. What do you need us for?"

Ffogg raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever heard of the Avionon?"

"Go on," Bowman said.

"It is an aircraft designed by the Belgian aeronautical pioneer Herms Herve in 1924, significant for having no engines or motive power of any kind, following Herve's personal allegiance to the obscure philosophy of Closoirisme." He handed out a series of colour prints, showing different angles of the streamlined artifact. "Closoirisme roughly translates as - "

"Uselessness-ism," Frankenstein interjected. "The Closoiristes practiced the belief that everything is impossible. They succeeded the Dadaists, and saw themselves as taking their ideas to their next inevitable level of absurdity and anti-artistry. I was acquainted with a young woman who called herself the Creeper, and who saw herself as a Closoiriste."

"Yes ... quite," Ffogg said, bemused. "Herve believed powered flight to be so impossible that even trying would be profitless, yet his philosophic credo called for a maximum effort to ensure that the 'didactic dynamic,' so-called, was satisfied. Thus he constructed the Avionon, 435 feet in length, built of titanium and chromium and weighing twelve tons."

Scarlet Hawk winced. Although their era barely preceded his own, the worlds of art, particularly self-indulgent movements such as these, he had always remained ignorant of. A complex engineering problem was what would have excited his imagination. But the very idea of such a wasteful 'aircraft' such as this made his pilot's heart twinge.

"By 1941 both the Avionon and Closoirisme had disappeared into the turbulence of the times," Ffogg continued. "As a collector of the arts, I considered myself fortunate to have had the opportunity to acquire the artifact. I even installed a runway out by the cliffs on my estate, so as to do justice to Herve's dream. I was satisfied then ... until I received this."

He passed around another series of prints ... this time, colour photocopies of what appeared to be a ransom note, with letters cut out from a series of magazines and crudely pasted onto a sheet:

L'AVIONON SERA FAIT POUR VOLER LIBRE

LA SOCIÉTÉ DE SURRÉALISME

"'The Avionon will be made to fly free'?" the Spider enquired. "I have never heard of this ... Society of Surrealism."

"Neither has my chief of security," Ffogg said, "but every instinct I have tells me that this is neither a prank, nor any run of the mill gang of thieves."

Bowman sighed. Everything about Marmaduke Ffogg's mannerisms and attitude annoyed him, but his request was not unreasonable. "We can't very well devote the entirety of our attentions to your back yard, Lord Ffogg. Were you given any indication of when this purported theft is going to take place?"

"No," Ffogg admitted, "although ... Herms Herve passed away in 1927 ... and in a week from my receipt of the letter is the anniversary of his death ... "

"If they were real surrealists," the Spider mused, "wouldn't they have picked any date except for that one? or ... February 29th? or a nonsense date?"

Ffogg shrugged helplessly.

"Scarlet Hawk," Bowman said, "you man the Hoverer on patrol starting tonight ... on the anniversary date the rest of us will join you in the Aviosub ... this is the best we can do, Lord Ffogg." He contemplated whether they ought to contact the Hood to augment their forces, although was reluctant to give more credence to Ffogg's request than necessary; he suspected as well the Hood's political beliefs would hardly make him enthused about assisting someone like the spoiled Lord.

"It's far less than I had hoped for," Ffogg replied, "but I suppose one must accept these concessions in life."

It was days later that the pilot and passengers of the Aviosub received, en route, the notification of the gaily painted schoolbus which had arrived at Ffogg's estate, despite his security protocols. "Right on time," the Spider noted.

"Whomever comprises this Society, they appear to be more traditionalists at heart than true Surrealists ... or Closoiristes," Frankenstein sneered.

On their arrival they were yet aghast to see the Hoverer grounded, a slim man in black tights bent over it, apparently disassembling the atom powered aircraft. Standing by him was a tall woman clad in green with a regal bearing; a young woman clad in black leather and a set of headphones appeared to be slumbering at their feet. Scarlet Hawk himself was bound, hanging upside-down from a rope, what appeared to be a raw trout stuck inside his mouth to silence him.

Bowman disembarked, and sighed. He wondered what capabilities the trio, or duo, had that allowed them to down his teammate so easily. He knocked an arrow. "Release our teammate and surrender to the ... Law's Legionnaires," he said.

The tall woman raised an eyebrow, and Bowman saw the windows of the schoolbus open and from them a hail of arrows pierce through his colleagues. He saw a glint of metal from the top of the vehicle, and looked up to see the armoured form of Cyril Sheldrake, brandishing what appeared to be a broadsheet newspaper in his hands. 'BOWMAN OUTED,' the headline read, and the Knight shook his head in disgust. "I shuddered every time you touched me, you stupid faggot," Sheldrake said, "I should have known you weren't enough of a man to lead the Soldiers in my absence, and now you've gotten our friends killed." He felt a sharp pain in his chest, he thought it was grief until he felt a wetness on his tunic, and looked down to see an arrow protruding into his chest, blood staining his uniform. He found himself in a tunnel of light, at the end of which he saw a man shining bright as the sun. The man extended a hand to him, and he realised that the blood on his tunic had actually come from a piercing in the palm of the man's hand. "You stupid faggot," the man said, and the ground opened up beneath him and he was thrust into the fires of hell.

Frankenstein looked down as his teammate collapsed to the ground. He glared at the tall woman. "What did you do to him, witch?"

"Please, refer to me by nom du crime, Phobia," she replied. "I have plans for the Avionon. Now be a good little monster and run along, will you?"

He roared, trundling towards Phobia. She bent over and pulled the sleeping woman to her feet. The woman stumbled forward, her head tilted to the side and her eyes closed. When Frankenstein came close, she swung one small, compact fist in his direction, with enough strength to stop him in his tracks and send him flying.

The other man turned to direct his attention away from the Hoverer. The Spider was surprised to see the youth was an amputee, his arms bisected at his shoulders. Hovering in front of the boy was a red glove. "I guess the Techno Glove is done with the Hoverer for now," he said, and the gauntlet soared through the air towards the Spider, clenching a screwdriver. The Spider fired his web gun but the glove ducked beneath it, and began to dismantle the mechanisms controlling his exo-skeleton and jetpack; he attempted to tumble backwards out of its way, but was too late, and discovered that the sensors which monitored his position and balance, automatically stabilising him should he stumble or fall, had been disconnected, and he crashed to the ground.

Scarlet Hawk finally managed to gnaw through the trout, spitting the pieces out in disgust. "Spider, you have to stop them! Don't let them ... "

"Hush now," Phobia interrupted, replacing the un-eaten section of the fish back into his mouth. She turned to her companions. "Sleepwalk! Love Glove! L'Avionon sera fait pour voler libre!" The three of them broke off their attacks and ran towards the artifact, setting their bodies against it and using Sleepwalk's physical strength to push it down the tracks. As it began to pick up speed, the three of them clambered aboard into the sculpted cockpit, and the vehicle swept forward into the air.

"Inconceivable," the Spider muttered, "have they actually managed to make it fly?"

Bowman's life-like illusions passed, and he looked up to see the Avionon airborne. Scarlet Hawk's scream was muffled by the trout.

Phobia removed Sleepwalk's headphones. "Holly McKenzie, wake up!"

The young woman blinked, and yawned. "What did I miss this time?"

Phobia rose to her feet and shouted at the fallen Soldiers, "Everything is impossible!" With those words, gravity overtook the artifact's momentum as it reached the peak of its arc, and the Avionon plummeted to the ground.

Frankenstein, bruised and battered, walked over to release Scarlet Hawk, and then slowly the quartet assembled to peer over the edge of the cliff. The Society of Surrealism lay scattered on the ground around the Avionon, clearly knocked unconscious by the impact of the fall. "Herms Herve would have been proud, I am sure," he said.

"Does this ... have something to do with modern art?" Scarlet Hawk enquired, his voice showing his perplexity.

"Perhaps they were only interested in the challenge ... whether it be in defeating us, or some other more abstractly intellectual pursuit." The Spider thought back to his own career as a master criminal, and how it was simple intellectual boredom which led him to seek out and defeat other criminals instead, although that resulted in occasional and temporary alliances with more altruistic crimefighters.

"Let's take the Aviosub down there," Bowman said, once he'd found his voice. "We'll ... try to find some way to secure the three of them and take them in. Let's just enter this case in the log books as a qualified success."

* * *

NOTES:

The Aviosub was created by PJ O'Rourke for _The National Lampoon Encyclopedia of Humor_


	4. The Foggiest Notion

SEVEN SOLDIERS OF VICTORY V2#4: "The Foggiest Notion"

The sonic sled traversed the skies, a trio of men aboard it. Lord Elgin Whitestone, who wore the grey-caped uniform of Lord Fogg; Lee Kelsey, whose black armour was identical to the one Richard Plante wore as Lionheart, except its lion emblem was blue instead of red; and Michael Bellamy, whose emerald uniform made him clearly recognisable as the Green Archer. They had been fashioned by Lord Marmaduke Ffogg into London's Guardians, and their eyes alert on the streets below them had kept the city safe.

It was on such a patrol that they saw unusual activity outside of London's Petra Bank. Lord Fogg clucked his tongue, thoughtfully. "An auspicious return to where London's Guardians had their debut*," he said. "Let us prove that we don't need EuroGuard or the Global Guardians to fight our battles for us."

* as seen in Bren Crow's _EuroGuard_ #11, from FauxDC

Lionheart II sighed, recalling all too well the awkwardness of that encounter, particularly his feelings on being confronted with the original Lionheart, who was a member of EuroGuard at the time.

Green Archer reached into his quiver, nimble fingers selecting an arrow with a specialised sonic nerve disruptor.

As the sonic sled descended, Lionheart II utilised his flight-capable armour to disembark en route, weaving his way between the shoppers running away from, and emergency services running towards, the bank. Finally he managed a rendezvous with the police officers surrounding the location. "What seems to be the problem, officers?" he said after he introduced himself.

A grey-haired man approached him. "Erskine Hawkins, inspector with Scotland Yard," he said. "Based on our consultation with InterPol files, it appears to be a robbery by EuroCrime, which means Toad-In-The-Hole will be operating as field leader."

Lionheart II blinked, several times. "Toad ... In ... The ... Hole ... ?"

Hawkins nodded, "They are an international team, and choose their field leader from whichever of their members has the location of their current operation as a country of origin." He paused, "I don't know what they do when operating in a country which doesn't have a EuroCrime representative ... maybe they draw lots."

Lionheart II nodded, extended his thanks, and rejoined the rest of his team to communicate what he had learned. He stood at the ready as Lord Fogg piloted the vehicle down.

"EUROCRIME. REVEAL YOURSELVES OR WE WILL BE COMPELLED TO APPREHEND YOU WITH EXTREME FORCE," Lord Fogg's mechanically amplified voice wafted out into the streets. "I CALL YOU OUT TO FACE THE GUARDIANS OF THIS LAND."

Several moments passed; with no response, Lord Fogg was about to speak into the sonic sled's amplifier once more, the front doors ... previously repaired from having been blasted open by the Injustice League ... opened to reveal a man in a toad uniform. He tottered forward, opened his mouth wide, and extruding a super-elastic tongue which wrapped around Lord Fogg's face, gagging him.

Lionheart II activated his energy sword and shield, and swung at the tongue, but Toad-In-The-Hole retracted it before it was bisected. Several other costumed men burst from the doors of the Petra Bank, towards the London's Guardians.

Lord Fogg threw a noxious fog bomb at them, impeding their progress while Green Archer took aim, but Gyro spun like a whirlwind, dissipating it and sending arrows flying.

Lionheart II flew towards Gyro, but soon found himself surrounded by the Wurstwaffe: a quintet of villains, each dressed up as a sausage. He rose into the air evasively, but sensed a tentacle wrapped around his ankle, and looked down to see himself in the grip of Calamari. The squidlike criminal held him fast long enough for the Wurstwaffe to link their hands together, increasing their strength. One of them dragged him down, another grabbed his sword-arm.

"Let's even the odds a bit," Green Archer muttered to himself. He fired a series of arrows which attached to members of the Wurstwaffe, and which began to emit a series of constant vibrations, each at a different frequency. The contact between them began to be excruciatingly painful, forcing them to detach. With their individual strength back down to normal levels, Lionheart II's own enhanced strength proved more than the equal of the individual members. One by one he swept them up into the air, depositing them with a series of downward throws into the concrete, scattered around the circumference of the battle site. He hovered for a moment, and swept down to confront L'Escargot. With speed surprising for a man dressed as a giant snail, L'Escargot fired a slime gun at his attacker. "Ugchhh that's disgusting," Lionheart II said. He tried to re-activate his energy sword and shield, only to find the slime had jammed his emitters, with the result shorting out his armour.

Lord Fogg meanwhile found himself attacked by Lutefisk, with his deadly lye-spray. Gagging, he donned his filter-masque, and escaped by creating yet another cloud of man-made mist with his pipe of fog. While Lutefisk floundered, Lord Fogg crept up behind him, striking him on the back of the head with the reinforced bowl of his pipe. From a pocket in his cape he drew forth a handful of fog pellets, only to have them lashed out of his hand by Toad-In-The-Hole's tongue. Before he could respond, the tongue flickered out again, wrapping around his neck.

Calamari approached Green Archer, moving quickly. One by one his tentacles fell prey to the swift arrows, though Gyro's speed proved swifter still, and he whirled the bow out of his opponent's grip. Snarling, Green Archer drew another arrow from his quiver, intending to use the steel-tipped arrow by hand if necessary, when his vision was obscured by a blur of red.

He blinked, and realised in an instant that he had not been wounded; the red belonged to the tunic worn a mere slip of a teenage girl, who had appeared out of nowhere and stood between him and Gyro. "That hardly seems sporting, does it?" she said, and flew forwards, her small fist striking the spinning assassin with enough force to knock him off his center. She flew over to Calamari next, taking his remaining tentacles in hand and efficiently tying them into a decorative knot. She landed, finally, next to Green Archer. "A present to you from TNT Tina ... " she said brightly.

TNT Tom arrived seconds later. He flew towards Lord Fogg first, and his powerful fingers unwrapped Toad-In-The-Hole's tongue from around the man's throat. Dragging the criminal along by his tongue, he quickly wrapped it around Lutefisk and L'Escargot, his own knotwork less decorative than his cousin's but just as secure. "... and from TNT Tom," he continued.

Lord Fogg touched his neck, feeling that he had narrowly escaped the hangman's noose. "Yes, well," he harrumphed, "Pleased to meet you young children." He walked swiftly over to the prone Lionheart II, beckoning for Green Archer to accompany him. "Lee, are you all right?" he whispered.

Lionheart II groaned. "I feel like I was sneezed on then struck by lightning," he said.

Together they hoisted the man to his feet, and the teens landed next to them. "Need any help?" TNT Tom said. "Sorry for butting in that way, but it did look like you were outnumbered three-to-one, and we felt it fair to even the odds."

"You two youngsters are with the Seven Soldiers of Victory, no?" Green Archer enquired. "I think I've seen you in some of the newspaper reports."

Lord Fogg mumbled under his breath to himself about 'johnny come latelies.'

"Yes, we are," TNT Tom puffed out his chest. "We're the newest members except for Beefeater."

Green Archer smiled engagingly. "Pleased to meet you youngsters," he said. "I'm sure we'll be working with each other again, soon enough."

* * *

In the sitting room of Lord Marmaduke Ffogg, the London's Guardians removed their masques and reported on their current case. Lord Ffogg demanded, "Why didn't you invite them to re-align with the Guardians?"

Whitestone blinked. "We hardly need a pair of rambunctious children in our ranks. We've always done fine on our own."

Green Archer sighed, and walked to the bar, pouring himself a glass of scotch. He withdrew from the argument, leaning back against the bar to watch the conversation with dispassionate interest.

"That's not what your report makes it sound like," Lord Ffogg replied.

"Lee in particular," Whitestone nodded towards Lionheart II, "did particularly well. With Michael's help he grounded five of their members on his own."

"From what you tell me, those two children defeated the entire team effortlessly," Lord Ffogg reminded him. "That's the sort of raw power we need on our side."

"I beg to disagree," Whitestone said. "All three of us ... we may use special equipment but we're human through and through. We're precisely the people who are best qualified to know how to protect London."

Kelsey interjected, "There were more than three times our number in EuroCrime ... no other British heroes would have done as well against those odds."

"That's exactly my point," Lord Ffogg continued, extending his index finger accusatorily. "The superheroes Britain does have ... Godiva, Jack O'Lantern, that green giant the Seven Soldiers employ ... are all odd or freakish. We did have one real superhuman in our ranks, Beefeater, but due to your lack of leadership skills, Whitestone, we couldn't keep her. What we need is to form a team which will compete with the best the Americans have on offer. That country is packed with superhumans. Now we have a pair who could be our Superboy and Supergirl, and I want them in the Guardians."

Green Archer reached behind him, slipping two arrows from his quiver, and pinioned them in his right hand to make a 'v'. With a rapid movement he set the arrows into his bow, aimed, and fired them.

Lord Ffogg cried out in horror as the steel-tipped points penetrated through the fronts of Whitestone's and Kelsey's throats, splattering him with blood before the men's bodies slumped to the floor. "There," Green Archer said with a broad grin as he walked up to the white-faced, cringing man who had been the team's sponsor, "turned out nice again."


	5. The London Larcenies

SEVEN SOLDIERS OF VICTORY V2#5: "The London Larcenies"

Mick Murdock rifled through the mail which had been dropped through the slot at the front door of his flat, furrowing his brow at a small, square envelope which seemed to have been slipped in with the rest of the mail. He walked quietly up the staircase to his second floor, pausing by the open door of his bedroom.

He'd once heard someone say that a body's scars illustrated the story of their life; certainly, the embattled life he lived had left its share. But in comparison, the body of the man he looked at now was an epic novel, or, he ventured, an overlong fantasy trilogy. He had spent hours tracing each scar and burn mark, wondering at the hard life which had left them. It was not a young man's body, but solidly built in a way that carried its shape through middle age. "Archer?" he said quietly.

Archer Dawe opened his eyes, in a way that suggested he was already awake. Mick had not once succeeded in sneaking up on or surprising him. Seeing the other man, Archer smiled and stretched his neck. He patted the bed next to him. "Breakfast is ready?" he asked, with a tone of exaggerated hopefulness.

Mick shook his head. "Who knows you're here?" He walked over and sat down next to the man, compulsively running his hand over the other's bare shoulders.

Archer mmmmed. "The Soldiers, obviously ... a few of the folks I'm closest to at Camberwell & Chancy know in a vague sort of way although they'd be unlikely to track you down ... if Margo and the Major know, it's because you told them. Why?"

"It looks like someone left you a message." Mick handed Archer the envelope, on the front of which was a drawing of a crossed bow and arrow.

Archer furrowed his brow, and held the envelope to the light, sniffed it, and finally opened it. Inside was a small business card, on which were drawn a series of identical symbols. "Three bells?" he asked. He handed the card to Mick. "Does that mean anything to you?"

Mick thought for a moment. "There's ... a pub on the docks called The Three Bells ... my old band played there once ... "

Archer nodded. "I don't think any of the Soldiers would be this coy about arranging a meeting ... granted I don't know the three new kids so well, but this doesn't seem their style. Come to think of it, I doubt Tom or Tina could even legally enter a pub."

"So it's a mystery. And someone's followed you here. Are you going to investigate? It's probably a trap."

"Of course it's a trap! It always is. Hadn't the Batman taught you that? This sort of thing happens to him all the time, I imagine," Archer laughed. He slid out of bed and reached for his carrying bag, pushing the civilian clothes which had been folded and draped atop it onto the floor and opening the bag up to reveal a hidden compartment, in which he kept the uniform and the armaments of The Bowman.

Mick sighed as he watched the other man getting dressed. "Are you going to call the Soldiers?"

"The note was meant for me. No reason to involve the others."

"I'd feel safer if you did. Or at least let me contact the Bat Squad and meet you there."

"That's really not necessary."

"You ... " Mick scowled, and pressed his finger hard into the other man's chest, " ... are no longer a single man, Archer Dawe. You're not free to take the sort of risks you used to when nobody cared what happened to you."

Archer sighed, but his expression softened. "All right, you win," he said. He sat back down on the bed and pulled off the identity-concealing hood he had donned moments before. "Give me a consolation kiss, at least."

Mick leaned in, pressing his lips to the other man's. "Oh, I definitely win."

* * *

Later that evening, Bowman and the trio of midnight-clad adventurers descended on the Three Bells. Glancing at the man's face in the dim light, Bowman noticed, not for the first time, how at certain angles and in certain light Mick Murdock bore a powerful resemblance to Cyril Sheldrake. The Batman had very definite tastes, it seemed, making Bowman wonder about the man's own proclivities.

"I'm going to investigate the interior of the pub," Bowman murmured. "I need the Bat Squad to scout out the exterior. I don't want anyone sneaking up on me, and I need clues about whatever they might be planning."

Mick gave a rueful salute, and he and the others quietly began their reconnaissance. Bowman sighed heavily, watching them, never at ease with the idea of civilians engaged in the sort of dangerous life he led. These, at least, had received some training from one of the best. Reflecting on that thought as he used a lockpick arrow to break into the back of the Three Bells, he wondered at some unconscious hypocrisy on his part: what special training had some of the Soldiers received, before they began their careers? He as well as many of his ilk had a tendency to assume degrees of competence on the part of anyone who donned colourful tights to battle crime, when there was no rational justification for that bias. His own intensive course of study, under Brother George North in the branch of the Jesuits begun by Brother Honestus in honor of the Fellowship of the Black Arrow, was the exception rather than the rule.

So lost was he in his internal reverie that he almost didn't hear the telltale whistle of air through an arrow's fletch. He rolled out of the way, notching an arrow into his own bow seamlessly as he hit the ground, aiming for his estimation of the direction of the attack. A green-clad figure rappelled down from the winding stairwell which led to the pub's second story deck. "I'm so glad you could make it, Archer Dawe," said a familiar voice.

"The Green Archer." Bowman did not lower his weapon. "I had wondered who was using the name. If I'd seen any vids of you in action I'd have recognised your style, Kalesque."

"It was so frustrating having to stifle my natural personality and work alongside Ffogg and those nitwits in London's Guardians," Lord Kalesque's smile broadened, "but it was all part of a greater game."

"And I suppose that summoning me here was all part of this 'game' of yours?"

"Only partially. I was paid to infiltrate the group, but I used the opportunity to see whether I could impersonate someone else right under Ffogg's nose ... he knew me since I was a child, and if I could do that, I stood a good chance of impersonating you and infiltrating the Soldiers."

Bowman stifled a reaction of surprise. He'd assumed Kalesque's targeting of him was predicated on the same reasoning that had prompted the man to travel to the States and target Green Arrow ... some incomprehensible rivalry of arrowcasters. "But if this attack was only means to an end, what was behind it? You've never even crossed paths with the Soldiers."

"I haven't, true. But the Knight was complicit in the death of my cousin in Goatswood after the John Ryder caper. Once I'm done with him and that Squire of his, I'm going to start venturing abroad and tracking down the rest of them."

Bowman thought to himself of Limehouse Larkin; the two of them as well as Kalesque were among Brother George North's students, though the half-siblings had turned their skills to the dark side. He remembered Cyril Sheldrake's account of how Larkin had vanished during an investigation by the group of then-teen adventurers known as the Eyrie, of Sheldrake's first exposure to the icon known as "The Pain of the Goat," and how it had led the Seven Soldiers to the cloudy depths of Demhe and their fierce battle against the mole men known as the Tylwydd Têg. "You realise that the Knight had nothing to do with that, don't you?"

"I realise the official story," Kalesque sneered, "but blood must be paid in blood."

At his words, Bowman rolled again, re-oriented and fired. He felt a stab in his side and his eyes tracked his opponent through the blur of pain, praying his own arrow had flown true.

* * *

"His 'needs' are ploys to keep us out of the action," Mick grumbled to his teammates. "He's trying to protect us."

"I think it's sweet," Margo said with a grin.

"I was investigating cases when he was still in diapers," grunted Major Dabney, "but I have better things to worry about than judgements from your romantic entangelements, Mick." Mick felt the typical combination of amusement, resignation, and annoyance that he always did when the Major discussed his relationship; he knew the man from an older generation had never felt completely comfortable with Mick's orientation. Nevertheless, the trio had successfully worked closely as a crimefighting unit for years, since they'd initially been gathered together by the Batman.

It was Margo's typically sharp eyes who spotted the boat with its curiously arrow-themed design. "I'm sure this isn't Bowman's," Mick said, "and even if he had a sport boat like this, he'd have told us when we reconnoitered here."

The Major nodded, "It's not a resource he'd have kept to himself, you're right. But what could it mean? There's more than one costumed archer investigating the Three Bells?"

"It sounds like a convention," Margo said.

"Given the mysterious way we were summoned here, it won't be a coincidence," Mick said, his voice troubled. "Major?"

"You're quite right," the Major judged. "We need to investigate." The trio stepped down to the dock, and noiselessly boarded the watercraft. Blacklight torches traversed the surfaces, and Mick stayed on deck while Margo and the Major descended below.

After several minutes, the silence was broken by Margo's hushed whisper. "I found a lockbox; Mick?"

He and the Major joined the distaff member of the Bat Squad in what appeared to be a storage room. "I was picturing something the size of a safe deposit box, not half a volkswagon," Mick said wryly. Margo removed a set of lockpicks from her purse, and handed them to him. Minutes passed tensely as he set to work, until he heard the releases unlatch. With a grin, he opened the case, to reveal a set of small carved boxes, of a variety of designs, some apparently ancient and some modern in design, as well as a number of multicoloured ovals. Mick looked over at the Major, bewildered.

"Buggeration," the Major said under his breath. "That's the Queen's collection of snuffboxes; they were stolen from her private museum at the royal Buckingham Palace a week ago ... and jewelled Russian easter eggs from the gallery of the Easterland House."

Mick tugged at the safe experimentally. "We're not going to carrry this offboard ourselves. Major, maybe it's time to call in Scotland Yard?"

The Major nodded. "I'll go updeck, where the reception will be clear." He left the room, only to return a minute later. "Someone's severed the boat's mooring line. We're floating free." He flipped open his cell phone, then blinked in alarm as the lights in the room were switched on, blinding him for seconds; long enough for a blow to strike the phone from his hands.

He whirled around, and saw a petite woman with blonde hair cut into a pixieish style. She held a pair of immense guns locked in aim at the trio, and on her face was a broad, predatory smile. "My name is Lady Vic," she said, "and I think your names are mud."

* * *

Lord Kalesque's voice floated, sing-song fashion, over the otherwise empty pub. "When is Archer Dawe a harper? When he's sent to heaven ... "

Bowman stilled his breathing. His shirt was damp with blood. He remembered his opponent had always outdone him in practices, and was far more ruthless. His only advantage was if he could find a way to use Kalesque's irrationality and obsession with venality against him. He released his grip on his bow, and fingered the arrow's sharp tip.

The tools of his trade clattered to the floor of the pub. "I'll ... I'll let you have the Knight. He rejected me once too often. Just spare the rest of the Soldiers ... you have no grudge against them ... "

"It's a good thing you never tried to get into my pants, if that's how you get when you're spurned." Kalesque laughed. "Throw down the rest of your arrows ... and that collapsible bow I know you keep as a back-up ... and we'll talk."

Bowman hesitated, but soon the remains of his armanents joined his bow and arrow. "All right. You'll need the access codes or you'll never be able to approach the island. The Blackhawks left a lot of automatic defenses b-behind ... " His voice began to trail off, lack of blood making him light-headed.

Kalesque walked over, shaking his head. "Be a shame if you bled to death before you managed to wrack your revenge," he said and knelt down next to Bowman. So, tell me what I need to know and maybe I'll get you to hospital, so you can read the headlines when I kill off the remains of the Eyrie." Soon to be followed by all the former members of the International Association of Masked Archers, starting with this one, he thought to himself.

"Help ... help me sit up ... " Bowman said. Kalesque reached down, and Bowman's hand lashed forward, slashing the other man's face with the pointed arrow tip which he had swiveled off its shaft. Kalesque shouted in alarm, temporarily blinded, and kicked at Bowman's wounded side. Bowman managed to curl up, grunting in pain at the effort, so that the foot caught him on the shoulder. He grabbed at Kalesque's leg and grappled with him, pulling his opponent down to the floor and pressing his forearm down against his throat, until finally he stopped struggling.

"Damn. Damn damn damn." Moving slowly he stripped Kalesque of his weaponry, and bound him in place. I'll have Dabney make the call on what to do with him, he thought to himself.

He rose to his feet and exited the rear of the pub, making his way towards his Arrowcar and its medical kit. "Dabney?" he called out in a whisper. "Mick?"

* * *

"Wakey wakey," he heard a voice say, followed by a girlish giggle. "Welcome back to the land of the living ... for now, anyway." Mick Murdock woke first, testing his chains, and looked across at Margo Cantrell and Major Dabney who were similarly secured. The trio were attached to what appeared to be some mechanical device, though from his angle it was difficult to detect exactly what sort. He was apparently somewhere outside, still in London given the evident presence of the Thames beneath them.

Lady Vic finished off her pint and, dipping the empty pint glass into the water, splashed it over the Bat Squad. Mick turned his face to the side, while the others spluttered into wakefulness.

"What was that," The Major asked, "knockout gas?"

She giggled again, and brandished a handful of fog pellets in his direction. "Aren't they pretty? Gift from the boyfriend, wasn't it, he's so thoughtful."

Mick glared at her. "Lady Vic, why did you bring us to this ... this ... " He looked around, trying to get his bearings.

"This, the world's largest winch?" she asked. "Just doing a bit of touristing at the Tower of London and thought to check out the bridge. It seemed like a nice place to arrange a little tete a tete with a trio of tresspassers, before we go through, well, what I suspect will be a parmanent parting of the ways."

Margo gasped, "You tied us to the winch? When it next opens the bridge for naval traffic we'll be torn to pieces?"

"And I will surely miss the three of you," Lady Vic continued, "but we're on too rich a winning streak to be interfered with now. Oh look, here comes lover boy!"

The arrow-themed boat motored slowly towards the bridge, and a man clad in green and carrying a bow climbed up on to the front deck, waving at the mismatched foursome. A series of bells clanged, announcing the opening of the bridge, and slowly the winch began to move.

Margo screamed in fear, and Lady Vic turned and shushed her in annoyance. "You're going to spoil our reunion." She climbed a bit lower, to approach the boat, when the archer fired an arrow which attached itself to her shoulder, sonic vibrations paralyzing her muscles and causing her to fall into the water. The man kicked a flotation device off the side of the boat towards her, then fired another arrow at the winch, which landed and began to emit a noxious liquid which seemed to cause the metal to instantly rust, resulting in it freezing in place.

"Archer?" Mick gasped. The masked man nodded, and then dove into the water, securing Lady Vic before he clambered up to free the Bat Squad.

"Sorry for the deception," Bowman said, "but I needed to get close enough to her to take her and her guns out of action, before I used my Antimechanical Arrow on the winch."

"Thanks Archer," Margo said, leaning up to kiss his cheek as the Major nodded his agreement. "I don't think the emerald suits you, so well."

"How did you manage to locate us?" the Major enquired.

"It didn't do it alone; it involved a hasty phone call to the Soldiers' HQ, where the Spider used the base's computer to figure out your location."

Mick pondered his partner's stubborness in not involving the Seven Soldiers in the first place, and how much this might have been avoided. He contemplated briefly what the other members of the team were doing at the moment.

* * *

The rich scarlet of the boy's tunic made a stark contrast to the grey of the skies as he landed outside the stately mansion. He rang the doorbell, and waited skittishly until a dignified-looking man in livery opened the door. "Yes, young man?" he said.

"They call me TNT Tom, Sir," the boy said. "I received an invitation?"

The butler smiled. "Of course. You are expected. This way, please."

TNT Tom followed the other man, through an interior richly decorated, though the decor was tastefully designed to reflect the owner's taste in modern artwork. Finally, he was led to a sitting room, where he was greeted by an older, mustachioed, grey-haired man.

The man rose to his feet, "TNT Tom, is it? Pleased to finally meet you in person. I am Lord Marmaduke Ffogg. So tell me, young man ... do you love your country?"


	6. No Fortunate Son

The Hood, under cover of darkness, slipped through the police tape into the abandoned house. No progress had been made in solving the murder, he knew, so it was time to interfere.

The house was small, and sparsely furnished. It hardly looked lived-in, aside from the disarray caused by the police investigation, although the victim was apparently quite elderly and had no other relatives.

The house showed no sign of forced entry. Gold bullion, perhaps, stashed beneath an upstairs mattress?

He scanned the walls with his flashlight, looking for something out of place, something that might have been missed.

There ... the grandfather clock. The rest of the house was so minimally furnished, why was there this antique grandfather clock in the living room? He pulled it to the side. Nothing hidden in the back. He scanned the wall ... there ... an almost invisible seam. And down at the floor, a small series of latches into which the base of the grandfather clock had been neatly set. It took him some time with the specialist tools he carried with him, but eventually he managed to trigger the opening mechanism and the hidden door slid open. Well, well, well, he thought to himself.

He stood at the top of a stairwell. Venturing silently down, he found himself at an underground dock which led into an immense canal which seemed to traverse the underside of the city. At the land end of the dock were a vast series of bookshelves, which had been emptied, and also what appeared to be a setup for a laboratory, which had been likewise stripped. On the floor he found a few magazines which appeared to have been inadvertently left behind. Scientific journals in English and some other language he couldn't place, and what appeared to be a communist tract in German. What were you up to and why did someone want to kill you, Carl Peterson? he thought to himself.

SEVEN SOLDIERS OF VICTORY V2#6: "No Fortunate Son"

Scarlet Hawk pursed his lips. The scenario was all too familiar to him, the intermixed scents of dust and burnt wood and plaster and the sickly olfactory undertone of burnt human flesh.

Bowman examined the ruins of the mosque. "What kind of person would do something like this? It looks a bit out of order even for the National Front ... "

"That is why we sought your assistance. You are looking well-preserved, Mr. Baker."

Scarlet Hawk turned in surprise at the sound of the lightly accented English. An elderly man, dark-skinned, had waded through the crowds surrounding the wreckage and stood quietly on the roped-off sidewalk near the remains of the building. "I'm sorry sir," Scarlet Hawk said, "I don't think we ... my god ... Abdul?"

The older man smiled and bowed his head slightly. "I had heard about your little jaunt, and sought to see it for myself."

Bowman joined the pair. "I don't think we've met?"

Scarlet Hawk stepped back. "Abdul, this is my compatriot, the Bowman of Britain. Bowman, this is the man we used to call 'Abdul the Arab' back in the day ... are you still working for British Military Intelligence?"

"I am formally long retired, though they call in my expertise on rare occasions. And as I said, I was curious."

"So what does MI5 say about these attacks? The third mosque destroyed in a week?"

"These are not simple explosives," Abdul said quietly. "These are missiles, fired apparently from the direction of the Thames. Whatever is responsible for these atrocities is evading our regular forces, which is why we called in the Seven Soldiers. As you can imagine, this is a sensitive matter, and we need it resolved extremely quickly."

Scarlet Hawk nodded, "I've yet to see anything that could outpace the Aviosub. We'll find whomever is responsible."

Thus it was that the Aviosub coursed through the dark waters of the underside of the Thames. They knew not where the next blow would strike, though Scarlet Hawk had a map of the other London mosques which were equidistant from the river as the previous victims of the terrorist strikes.

"I just don't understand why this is happening," TNT Tina said. "So many innocent people killed ... we don't have anything like this on my ... alternate Earth."

Spider observed her curiously. He had spent a fair amount of time indoctrinating the cousins so they would not reveal anything about his own status as an elseworld emigree. He wondered at times whether his former teammate the Squire suspected, she of the information-reading talent, but fortunately she had not yet interacted with the newcomers. "Of course, we don't know why these attacks have occured, yet."

Frankenstein grunted. "Christians and Mohammedans have been killing each other for centuries. Only the technology has changed. Not even the number of fatalities, so much."

"I'm still trying to get used to the idea that you and Tom come from sort of different dimension, even one just like our own," Beefeater said. "So you don't have any terrorism at all? How about the I.R.A.?"

"Oh ... yeah ... I mean I knew what the word 'terrorism' meant," TNT Tina said. "But it was pretty rare for anyone to really get hurt, or killed, it was mainly just property damage they were after."

"I think I have something," Scarlet Hawk said quietly.

Bowman rose to his feet and walked over to the pilot's seat. "What is it?"

"It's ... big," Scarlet Hawk replied. The team stared at the immense, blood-red contraption resting in the water before them, its curving ornamented design somehow reminiscent of an enormous squid. Hatchways like eyes glared down at them. "God's balls," Frankenstein muttered, "it's the Nautilus."

The Spider looked bemused for once. "The Nautilus? as in ... 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea? Captain Nemo?"

Frankenstein nodded. "He was not the first man to be immortalised in fiction, even after his death."

Beefeater coughed politely.

Silt stirred in a plume from the base of the Nautilus, and from the sides of the craft began to extend squidlike tentacles attacking the Aviosub.

The Aviosub's speed and Scarlet Hawk's piloting expertise kept the vehicle from being so easily captured as he initiated evasive maneuvers, though underwater vehicles were not his area of expertise, and he found himself unable to approach the Nautilus. The larger craft fired a missile and Scarlet Hawk cursed as they were buffeted by the explosion.

"We're outclassed in firepower here," Bowman said. "Terri and Tina, get out there and run interference."

"Yessir," TNT Tina said, saluting, and she and Beefeater donned a pair of oxygen masks and ducked out the airlock, flying effortlessly through the water. They attacked the tentacles as they endangered the vehicle, blasts of energy from the Rod of the Stuarts destroying missiles from afar before they endangered the Aviosub.

The Aviosub's own missiles burst harmlessly against the Nautilus' armoured shell. "We're going to get slaughtered here," Scarlet Hawk said.

"Bugger them," Bowman said. He peered out at their opponent. "See what looks like a viewing port? Let's poke them in the eye."

Scarlet Hawk grimaced, and looped the Aviosub around, accelerating towards one of the eye-like hatchways. Beefeater and TNT Tina, startled, recovered quickly and coasted in on its wake. The crash echoed through the surrounding waters and once the backlash had subsided they re-entered the craft through its rear airlock.

"Baker? What the hell happened?" Beefeater demanded as she entered into the Aviosub's cockpit.

"We're launching an invasion," Bowman replied. "You two did right by reconnoitering with us immediately. Get into formation. Frankenstein, you seem familiar with the Nautilus ... what are we to expect?"

"I don't know," Frankenstein admitted. "Nemo captained a full crew, but the bridge was designed so that a single man could pilot if need be. And I would not be surprised if improvements had been made to the steering mechanisms over the course of the last century."

Bowman gave the nod, and Frankenstein led the way, steam-guns drawn, through empty hallways which almost seemed to have been carved out of red coral. Finally they arrived at the bridge, to see a single man standing at the ship's wheel. He had dark hair and a small trim mustache, wore a natty grey pinstriped suit, and had overall the appearance of an English gentleman: a man who fought hard, played hard and lived clean. His best friend would not have called him good-looking but he possessed that cheerful type of ugliness which inspired immediate confidence. Only his eyed redeemed his face. Deep-set and steady, with eyelashes that many women envied, they showed him to be a sportsman and an adventurer.

He turned, slowly, to face the gaudily clad Soldiers. His eyes passed over the Spider with a curious expression, and when they settled on Frankenstein his lips broadened into a slight smile, as if he had almost expected the appearence of a legendary monster in such an august and historical surrounding. "Can I help you?"

"You attacked our ship," Bowman said. "You're under arrest for a series of hate crimes, including multiple murders and the destruction of houses of worship."

The man smirked. "Is that what they're calling those terrorist training centers nowadays, 'houses of worship'? My grandfather knew better, and I bet yours did, too. They need to go back to their homelands and all I did was take it on myself to show them how little time a true Englishman has for their lot."

Frankenstein snarled, "Your campaign of hatred ends, now. Just tell me ... why the Nautilus? How did you even find it?"

"Ahh," the man looked pleased to have been asked. "My grandfather was sworn enemy of a man named Carl Peterson, who was one of the sons of the original Captain Nemo. When I discovered that Peterson still had Nemo's craft, I could not resist the irony of using it to defend our shores, as well as getting revenge for all the trouble he had caused my family in the past. And as for your other intentions, let me show you why folks call me Big Don Drummond."

As he said this, he inhaled deeply, and held it. TNT TIna blinked, perplexed. "They call you that because you throw temper tantrums? because you can hold your breath until you turn blue?"

"Uhhh ... Tina ... " Beefeater said, "... he actually is turning blue."

Before the team's eyes, the man's skin started to alter hue, becoming a bright flowery blue ... and when he bunched his arms, his chest and shoulders started to expand, blue skin bloating until he more than doubled in size. Silently, the mutated horror charged forward, scattering the Soldiers like tenpins.

A barrage of weaponry ... sonic arrows, steam-projected bullets, steel-strong webbing, blasts from the Rod of the Stuarts ... followed, each shrugged off as if they did not exist. He directed his attack on Frankenstein, perhaps out of some sense that the monster's size made him his most natural opponent. Frankenstein defended himself fiercely, but his strength was a fraction of Drummond's. Beefeater and TNT Tina waded in to defend him, their own diamond-hard fists bruising against his impenetrable skin. Bowman and Scarlet Hawk resumed their long-distance attacks, while the Spider drew forth his web gun, firing a nylon strand to the ceiling of the bridge. He drew himself up to the top, where he hung like his namesake waiting for its prey.

Drummond looked almost regretful as his massive fists struck out at the women, less so when he took out Scarlet Hawk. Bowman backed away, arrow ready. "Damnit Spider, don't just hang there. We're being slaughtered."

The Spider narrowed his eyes, assessing the battle carefully. "Have you noticed he hasn't said a word since he changed? In fact, he hasn't exhaled. I think he's a big blue balloon."

Drummond growled and leaped up, his hand snapping the Spider's strand. The Spider's exo-skeleton enhanced his natural abilities by monitoring position and balance, automatically stabilising him when fell. He fired another web at his opponent, who ignored it as he began to slowly wrap his fingers around his throat, smiling grimly. Four of the others struggled to defend him, attempting futilely to loosen the powerful grip, as TNT Tina fled from the room.

The Spider began to wonder whether he had overplayed his hand, when TNT Tina hovered before Drummond's face. "Big blue balloon," she said with laughing eyes, as she opened her hands to reveal a handful of ground pepper which she had retrieved from the Aviosub's mess kits. She blew it in his face.

Drummond sneezed, and as the air fled his lungs his reflection changed and he reduced in size. "Damnit ... ah-CHOO!" Beefeater and Frankenstein struck him full in the face. The others pressed their advantage, wearing him down while preventing him from concentrating enough to hold his breath again. TNT Tina was ready with another handful of pepper whenever he looked about to inhale. Finally, deflated down to normal size, Scarlet Hawk's throwball was sufficient to render him unconscious.

They stared down at the prone figure. "I look forward to finding a hole to bury this bastard in," Scarlet Hawk said.

"No kidding," Beefeater said. "But what do we do with ... " she waved her hands to take in the Nautilus, " ... this?"

"It doesn't seem right to use it for our own purposes," Bowman mused. "We will have to determine whether Carl Peterson has any heirs, I suppose. After that ... I suppose I ought to contact the Atlantean embassy."

Elsewhere ...

Lord Marmaduke Ffogg looked through the viewscreen at the young man, IV drip connected to his forearm. He spoke through the voice transmitter. "Are you all right down there?"

The youth glanced upwards at the small speaker. "I've never felt better. Let's just get on with it."

Ffogg nodded, and pulled down the switch to close the blast doors. "Start the process, Dr. Lanta."

The scientist peered at Ffogg. "You're certain of this? He'll be resistant to ... "

Ffogg sighed, and nodded. "Of course. The thermo-clyodine-phostium compound will interact with his already affected physique. All we need is a catalyst." The ground rumbled as the atomic bomb exploded in the underground bunker. The viewscreen went dead.

"Now all we have to do is wait."

It was only seconds later that the ground burst open beneath them. The lithe young figure exploded into the sky. Laughing, he arced back down, scooping up a boulder from the disrupted underground and tossing it into the air. When it returned to earth many seconds later, it was met with a double blow from fists crackling with energy, which caused it to explode. "I thought I had had power before ... it was nothing!"

Ffogg exited the lab building, eyes on his geiger counter. "The radioactivity seems to have been completely absorbed. So it's to be a new TNT Tom, is it?"

He laughed in response. "That's a childish name. I'll need a new name and uniform for the new role I will be playing in Britain's history. Call me ... Thunderbolt ... Thunderbolt the Avenger!"

* * *

NOTES:

The physical description of Big Don Drummond is edited from an original description of Hugh 'Bulldog' Drummond.

I wanted to title this episode after the _Justice League Unlimited_ episode in which an impromptu gathering of characters, who represented the original Seven Soldiers of Victory, battled a jingoistic, Hulkish opponent; but the name, "Patriot Act," would be meaningless applied to a British-based series.


	7. The Bloody Tower

SEVEN SOLDIERS OF VICTORY V2#7: "The Bloody Tower" (with apologies to James Robinson)

"This is Colin Clark with the BBC," said the mild-mannered reporter into the headset, as he stood aside the cameraman. "In response to the government's call for registration of all superhumans operating in the country, dozens of costumed adventurers have come to the fore." The camera swung around to reveal the parade of grinning, gleaming figures as they waved the crowd, en route to the Tower of London, where the registrations were being held. "And under the offers of amnesty, even some of the country's supervillains have joined them, the most famous being Jarvis Poker, the so-called British Joker."

As if on cue, the middle-aged gentleman with the purple hair and the paper-white skin walked over Clark's assistant holding a microphone. "I would like to reassure my public that if they think the British Joker isn't going to be dealing them a different hand, the joke's going to be on them." He raised his left hand which exploded into a burst of patriotically-coloured confetti.

An elderly priest sat at the entranceway to the main hall, taking names and identifications. Some had whispered that prior to the Second World War the Reverend Armitage Hawsley had fought corruption in high places under the insignia of The Cannon, but that was of course only rumour.

Despite her time with London's Guardians and the Seven Soldiers, Beefeater still felt ill at ease in this august company, and she missed her old compatriot Lee Kelsey. She wandered about the crowd, nursing her drink and catching fragments of conversations.

Mirror Master: "Who invited Looking Glass? He is such a killjoy."

Bowman: "I use an ethanol mixture. It doesn't burn as hot."

The Spider: "No, I am just a legacy of sorts. It was my traitorous namesake that died."

Godiva: "Touch me there again, and they'll be picking scraps of your 'love glove' out of the ceiling for a month!"

The Hood: "Seriously, you used to call yourself the Hovering Baker?"

Jerry Cornelius: "You just know a fight's going to break out. Back when I was in the Vendetta V's, we couldn't go a week without a tedious battle of some sort, and there were just five of us!"

Jack O'Lantern: "So then she says 'well I can shoot green fire from my nose' so I go 'yeah well maybe you should save up and buy the power of shooting water from your fingertips.'"

The curtains parted behind the impromptu stage, and Beefeater felt her guts clench as she saw Lord Marmaduke Ffogg … her former sponsor as a member of London's Guardians … take the podium, TNT Tina at his side. She noted the young woman looked worn about the edges, her expression strained, and she wondered what worries haunted the powerful girl.

"Welcome, my friends, welcome to our gathering of heroes.

"Our nation has always given birth to men who have inspired others the world over to don the mantle of heroism … from the days of King Arthur and the Silent Knight, through Robin Hood and the Black Pirate, and to this country's champions who guarded our shores during the darkest days of the Blitz, such as John Bull, the Whistling Skull, and the original Shining Knight.

"But over the course of the last decade, Britain's pre-eminence as an inspiration for the world's heroes had waned with the arrival of Superman and others from our former colonies.

"But, I am prepared to offer a new champion for a new era, one that will lead our nation back into the position it deserves and forward into the future … " He drew aside the curtain to reveal a tall masked figure clad in red, his chest emblazoned with a blue and white lightning bolt, who strode forward assuredly: "Thunderbolt the Avenger!"

Thunderbolt soared upwards into the sky, slamming his fists together with an impact like an atomic blast. He descended back to the podium, the dazed audience rallying into wild cheers.

"Thank you," he said into the microphone. "I am privileged to have been offered these opportunities by Lord Ffogg, and I hope to prove worthy of them. Too much of this country has fallen into cynicism and self-doubt, even amongst its costumed crimefighters. But I offer you a new way, a new leadership to leave aside our individual weaknesses and, for some of you, the mistakes made in our pasts, to bind us together into something immeasurably greater than anything any of you have imagined … a new Camelot!"

As he continued to speak, Scarlet Hawk furrowed his brow. He wound his way through the crown and sat before the priest. "Reverend Hawsley?"

The man smiled. "Please, just call me Bagsy. I'm too old to worry about titles, especially amongst such an august company,"

"He talks differently from the young man I last saw weeks ago. His voice … I know his voice from long ago. Where from?"

Bagsy tilted his head and closed his eyes, listening to Thunderbolt's inspiring lecture. "He sounds like a natural leader, certainly."

"A natural … oh my god. It's impossible." Scarlet Hawk's face turned pale beneath his helmet. He ran up to the podium and swept down the microphone from the surprised speaker. "Listen to me … this is not whom he appears to be … I don't know how or why … but that is not the young man many of us knew as TNT Tom … it's _Oswald Mosley_!"

Lord Ffogg pushed him away, "This is absurd, you need to … "

He was interrupted by a cry from TNT Tina, who seemed to have been snapped out of some hypnotic spell. "Don't listen to him! He's not Lord Ffogg at all and that isn't my cousin … he's Cyris Smythe! Cyris Smythe the living brain!" Thunderbolt grabbed her by the lapel and swept her up into the air, an explosive punch sending her flying into the horizon. The man with the face of Lord Ffogg reached into the pocket of his jacket and swallowed the contents of a small vial, causing his body to increase in size.

It did not take the assembled crimefighters long to move into action, several of them soaring skywards against the Thunderbolt, the rest taking up arms or fists against the now-towering Cyris Smythe.

Cyris Smythe's brobdingnagian proportions made him a target and he found himself assailed by fists and claws, bullets and swords and psychic blasts. Jack O'Lantern and Godiva worked as a team with practised ease, binding Thunderbolt's wrists in powerful tendrils of hair and emerald bands of glowing magic; Scarlet Hawk and Beefeater moved in unison, a barrage of bullets and energy blasts assailing the reincarnated fascist leader.

Mirror Master stepped aside as an immense wolf joined the fray, attacking Lord Ffogg's rampaging form. He eyed the battle sourly, and looked through his utility pockets for just the right mirror. He drew one out, aiming it at the sun to angle the light into the giant's eyes, when the heroine known as Boudica … she who had been called 'the Briton Wonder Woman' … went careening into him. He fell to the ground and dropped the mirror, watching in a daze as it cracked on the ground. "By the War-Goddess Morrigan of Many Names!" she exclaimed as she picked herself up off the ground, "are you all right?"

Thunderbolt's fists crackled with explosive energy, feedback lashing out at the Global Guardians who had him trapped. Shielding his eyes, he grabbed hold of Beefeater's Rod of the Stuarts, sending another pulse of energy down his fist which caused the weapon to shatter. Terri Gorvett screamed and began to plummet downwards, a shocked Scarlet Hawk swooping after her in his Hoverer in a desperate rescue attempt.

Bowman, the Hood, and the Spider tried to immobilise Cyris Smythe in steel-strong cords, while Frankenstein and Lady Vic fired multiple rounds at their target. The bullets bruised his skin and he shouted, "Away with thee, pests! I had not survived three hundred years of entombment to yield to such wan afflictions!" He struggled mightily, breaking free of his bonds. An enormous hand swept through the combatants, knocking the Spider, Sleepwalk, and Love Glove out of the battle; the Spider's exoskeleton allowed him to land effortlessly on his feet, although the Love Glove's skull struck concrete and his body lay crumpled and still.

Looking Glass reflected Thunderbolt's energy back at him, knocking the man nearly out of the sky. Nightrider in mistlike form hovered over to their opponent, his hypnotic gaze catching the man's eyes as he leaned in to feed. Thunderbolt growled, "We dealt with your kind in my time the same way we did the Commies and the darkies and the nancy boys." He seized Nightrider by the throat, attempting to decapitate him. A beam of green light from Jack O'Lantern slashed into his arm, causing him to release his victim. Thunderbolt swivelled mid-air and his hands began to crackle once again. Looking Glass intercepted, but Thunderbolt slammed both fists into him, and the hero shattered into a thousand shards.

There was a blinding flash of light, and the Bowman groaned in frustration, trying desperately to strategize his weakened forces for a three-tiered attack, when the light resolved into the reflection of sunlight off gleaming armour. "I see time was on our side," said Cyril Sheldrake, as he appeared from his distant future tourney. He gestured, sending Ystina and Lionheart skywards to face the Thunderbolt, while he directed the Squire and the Crusader to join in a renewed battle against Cyris Smythe.

"Oh, it's that girl Shining Knight," Thunderbolt said. "I knew the real Shining Knight, missy, and you're not him. I'm going to toast that horse of yours." He readied a blow, when the magically sharp blade she carried sliced through the front of his uniform, drawing blood. He gasped and recoiled in shock, and Lionheart's energy sword was added to the attack. The pair of them continued on, forcing him into a defensive pose through sheer savagery.

The Knight's squadron of miniaturized Spitfires and the Crusader's energy-smiting stick bedeviled the giant, and he began to direct the remaining combatants. Mirror Master watched from the sideline, then scowled. "Templar," he hissed. The occasional member of the Conglomerate tilted his head. "What do you want, McCulloch?" The rogue removed another mirror from his belt, and unfolded it as if he were unmaking a piece of origami. "You're a tk, right? Can you … don't look into it … but position this mirror so that it catches that thing's eye?" Templar looked back and forth between his tentative ally and the giant who seemed to be wrecking chaos amongst the other established heroes. "If the Knight's planes don't blow it out of the sky," he said. The mirror slid up, angling between the planes and bullets and arrows, appearing directly before Cyris Smythe's face. "What new foolishness is this?" the giant said, and Mirror Master inserted two fingers in his mouth and gave a piercing whistle. The mirror suddenly folded in on itself, and Cyris Smithe did, too, Finally, Lord Ffogg's body stood in quite normal size, and the mirror fell to the ground as a compact at his feet. "Mother may I?" Squire said, and vaulted into action, both feet landing on Ffogg's chin.

Thunderbolt backed away from his armoured attackers. "Enough!" he cried out, and slammed his fists together. The resulting impact rippled through the area like an atomic blast, tumbling his foes to the ground. He descended finally, the heroes of the day strewn at his feet. "The streets are still, the final struggle's ended," he began to sing. "Flushed with the fight we proudly hail the dawn!"

The Knight opened his protective visor. "Not by half," he said. He unspooled a cord from the ankle of his armour, and attached it to a nearby socket. Lights all across London dimmed as he channelled the energy into himself, and charged against Thunderbolt.

The pair battled, fist to fist, the strength of an entire city pit against the living personification of fascism of the atomic age. But the otherworldly power, amplified from TNT Tom's own, began to prove the superior, and the Knght's armour began to crack from the repeated impacts.

"This will not be a good death," Thunderbolt sneered at the Knight's unconscious body as the man finally fell to the ground. He raised his fists to deliver a killing blow, barely hearing the rush of air behind him. Like a bolt of lightning, TNT Tine swooped out from the horizon, scooping up the shattered base of Beefeater's power rod and impaling him on it. The man emitted a horrible, gurgling groan, finally falling to the ground.

TNT Tina crawled across the ground, taking the fallen body into her lap. She pressed her lips against his, the face now looking once more innocent in the final repose. "You always were my favourite cousin," she whispered, and began to weep.


End file.
